De Nocte (By Night)
by EveningCicada
Summary: FE: Awakening. When one is threatened, their heartbeat tends to accelerate. I trained mine to disappear. I'm Henry, but this is who I was Before. After is overrated; there is much more to the story. When enrolled at the Institute for the Dark Arts, I learned more than just how to handle magic. Your world can end over and over again, and it will. Reviews appreciated.
1. Praefatio

**Praefatio**

Mother never held my hand before. Something was impossibly wrong.

In slow-motion we approached the revered _Instituti de Tenebris Magicae._ It took two-thousand steps (precisely, for I counted) and four rocks in my shoe to finally reach the Institute for the Dark Arts. It was so massive it rivaled the height of the surrounding trees. Tall, arched windows stared at me like a monstrous set of eyes. Along one wall were a few snaking arms of ivy, which blossomed into a twisting patch of green along the roof. The building was decaying in color, and doubtlessly old. The brick was rotting in some places, and while the rest of the forest was rich with life, here the fauna was brown and dry. Here was the _Institutum,_ buried in the middle of absolutely nowhere, to ensure that absolutely no one could arrive or leave without getting lost in the thick woods that surrounded it. It was a wonder Mother found it so well.

With her free hand she pried open the towering iron gates. Everything was so tall. Well, perhaps I was just tiny.

She didn't dare release me, as if I'd make a run for it. Twenty-one hundred steps in and my hand was more sore than my legs. My fingers were buried in her unrelenting grip. That's when it occurred to me this wasn't holding. This was gripping something before throwing it away.

Mother stopped at the bottom of the wide, crumbling front steps (I was convinced they led to the gods). I stiffened.

"Don't you feel excited, Henry?" she asked, kneeling down to match my height. "You are going to learn magic, like in all those adventure books you read." I wasn't sure how to answer her. None of my stories ever mentioned dreary, looming buildings with fingerprinted windows and decaying lawn shrubs. I didn't even know I wanted to practice spells. But Mother insisted that of course I did. And she knew best, apparently.

"Gracious, child, have you any words?" she remarked, her brows in a knot. Her white hair fell in tangles around her face, contrasting sharply with the youth of her skin. Her eyes were cloudy, and even on good days I was never able to read them. She was more beautiful, I concluded, from higher up, where I couldn't fully see her.

She sighed. "Bonus puer eris, Henricus." _Be a good boy, Henry. _She unfolded herself and grew again, and looked down at me for what would be the final time. If I had known how long it would be before I saw Mother again, I probably would have said something. But for so long my tongue was trained to stay still. _Bonus puer eris. _Good boys didn't waste their breath. Not even by breathing.

"_Magistra _Melaena is waiting," she told me now. "Go on, _ire_, and I'll be right behind you." She offered her rotten smile, but at five years old nothing is rotten, only stale. With desperate faith I accepted her order, exhausting all my strength to ascend to the sky. When I reached the final step I was on top of the world, but six feet under.

Later in my studies I would learn antigravity spells. But by then I knew I'd already had my battle with gravity; when Mother finally let go of my hand, when she tossed me into a world separate from her own, I didn't hit the ground immediately. It was a slow, slow fall back to earth; it would take years, actually, before I connected with the land again.

To this day, my knees have bruises.


	2. Unus

**Unus**

I used to pray. But on my first day at the _Institutum_, I swore the gods died. I held a funeral for each of them in my head—all of them I could remember, at least.

In Magistra's office, there were no windows. It was terribly dark even in the daytime. She placed regular hexes on the room, so nobody could hear the discussions between its walls. I was never claustrophobic, but sitting there, trembling, in a leather chair that nearly swallowed me, I was probably something pretty similar.

I clasped my hands so tightly that they lost feeling. Magistra was convinced I was hiding something between my palms.

"Aperis," she said more than once. _Open_. I untangled my fingers for her, revealing nothing but the air. She scowled and took a seat behind her massive desk.

"Henricus, boy," she began, "do you know where you are?" Her mouth was so thin; I wondered how her words made it through. I stared at a feather pen on her desk, so not to meet her eyes. In response I shook my head.

"The gods gave you a tongue," she spat, "didn't they?" She leaned forward. "Loqueris. Speak."

I inhaled. "Non," I answered. "I don't know."

She straightened, and the muscles in her neck tightened. "Do you dare speak to me in the language of slugs?" I couldn't tell if she wanted me to answer this. I stayed quiet, which was apparently the right thing to do.

"Latin solum!" she barked so suddenly that I looked up at her. Her eyes were dark brown, but from where I was sitting they looked black. Her gaze bore a hole into me. I felt uneasy. _Latin only_, she wanted. I had to play her game. Mother had games, I remembered. But Mother also left.

She did that a lot, I recalled with the same anxiety. Perhaps she'd return for me again.

My eyes floated back to Magistra, whose disgusted stare was unrelenting. My shoulders stiffened. "Sic, Magistra." _Yes, teacher._

She stood up. Her dark violet dress hugged her lanky frame. "You are at the prestigious _Instituti de Tenebris Magicae_, and you will act as such." She took long, slow steps around the room, circling me twice. I swore the air grew colder.

"You are a smart boy, yes?" she asked. Her eyes were expectant.

"Sic," I mumbled.

She nodded approvingly. "Bonus, that's good." She folded her hands against her stomach. "So you will abide by our rules until you complete your studies and are released."

"Released?" I repeated. She shot me a stern look that clearly read no English. I swallowed. "Ubi?" I asked. _When?_

"According to your mother," she said, walking back to her desk and sorting through some papers, "you will continue your enrollment until you are seventeen."

When you are five, twelve years might as well be two centuries. And beginnings seem more like endings in disguise, and the sun sleeps in later than you do, and the world spins slowly on its axis—despite what the scholars say.

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Mother used to sing.

I recalled this as I was led down to my bunk on my first night. My escort—a student, a teacher, I couldn't tell—wasn't singing, technically—more of a humming, but every third or fourth note a word would surface. Her voice was so low that I couldn't tell if she was reciting Latin or English. Either way, I felt a memory rise within me and claw at my throat.

Mother always sang as she gathered the candle wax. She always fell silent when it reached my skin.

The bedroom chamber was a large, rectangular room with a dozen beds along the two longest walls. There were windows on opposite sides of the room, revealing the dense woods that kept us hidden here. Since night had fallen, the room was kept alive through candles (and even so, they did not provide much light). Children in baggy pajamas sat cross-legged on the floor. They peered over books and were probably reciting spells (poorly, I should say, as their efforts bore nothing). Conversations zig-zagged across the room, further reminding me that I was without even an acquaintance in this new, busy world that was the _Institutum_.

My bed was pointed out to me by my escort. It was closest to the window, which I liked, and was completely identical to the other beds: a dark brown frame and gray, lifeless sheets that made even dreaming seem impossible. I changed into my pajamas upon instruction to do so, and didn't realize I had begun to sob until someone pointed it out to me.

"Hey, don't cry," a boy cooed from somewhere behind me. His voice was unusually friendly—quite a change from what I had endured all day. I rubbed my eyes and kept my back to him, embarrassed.

"Hey," the boy said again, even more softly this time, "it's okay. The first day's always the worst."

I still refused to face him. But despite my disrespect, he continued to speak to me. "Are you afraid of Magistra?" he asked. "Because everyone is."

I inhaled slowly. "Non," I answered, "sed-"_ No, but—_

"You don't need to speak Latin," he interrupted me. There was a smile behind his words. "That's only in front of the teachers."

I swallowed. "Paeni—I mean, I'm sorry."

He chuckled. "You'll be okay. You get used to it."

At last I turned to face him. As I pivoted, I gathered the courage to ask him his name.

He sat up in his bed and brought the candle to his face. The first thing I noticed was his eyes—or eye, rather. One was a soft brown, but the other was painted a brilliant gold. It didn't look real—its luster and richness of color seemed fit only for dreams. His iris glistened even in the stingy glow of the candle. It was hard to look anywhere else.

"I'm Felix," he said, and his lips curved into a delicious smile. "What about you?"

My name caught in my throat. This boy spoke so easily and fluidly, and I found it difficult to simply breathe. "Henry," I told him finally, the word oddly naked without the -_cus_. I hated that ending. Just Henry was fine.

He smiled even brighter. He was probably a couple of years older than me. I wasn't sure how they bunked students at the _Institutum_—it definitely wasn't by skill, or gender, or age. As my studies progressed, I realized the only thing the teachers handled in an orderly way was their instruction of magic. Everything else was done, it seemed, completely nonsensically.

"I think we'll make good friends, Henry," Felix told me now. His voice was helplessly optimistic, and hiding between his words was an odd, unfamiliar accent. His kindness should have comforted me, but it only further stirred my anxiety.

"Lights out!" someone shouted from outside the door. All around us children shuffled to their bedside tables and extinguished the tiny flames. It was like watching stars die. Second by second night settled into the room, until Felix's candle was the last one alive. He cast his mysterious eyes on me and blew out the tiny light in one swift breath. It was the first time I watched him disappear.

For a long time, Felix would be my best friend. He had a calm, soulful air about him that put his company at ease. Unlike the rest of the students at the _Institutum_, he was easy to approach and hard to leave behind. He was a smooth talker, endlessly generous, and a gifted mage. If I ever had a hero, he would be it.

Nothing can justify his death.


	3. Duo

**Duo**

My training in magic began right away. I had several instructors, each of whom taught me certain kinds of spells. There was one for offensive magic, and another for defensive spells. And another for inflicting status ailments. And yet another for transformation and deception—I was too young yet to handle the advanced magic in that category, so I mainly just watched the others. In the span of a few weeks I had observed students transform into animals, duplicate themselves, and turn invisible. I was beyond intrigued (and at times, disturbed).

"Iterum!" an instructor presently shouted at me. _Again! _That was the most important word of class. If I did something successfully, they wanted to see it once more. And even more if I failed the spell. Learning magic was exhausting. At first I wasn't sure if I liked it.

"Iterum!" my teacher said once again, more loudly this time. I recited the spell as quickly as my mouth would allow, and fire once more exploded from my fingertips. But something was wrong. The spell was supposed to create a stream of flames, not short bursts of fire.

"Focus, Henricus. Incumbo." My teacher, a stern man with tangled blonde hair, situated my hands closer together. "Iterum."

I read the spell and encountered the same result. The burst of fire was especially violent this time, knocking me back several feet. I opened my eyes to an extended hand.

"Tibi est bene?" asked Felix. His smile crawled up the side of his face. _You okay?_

I nodded. With a steady arm he pulled me back to my feet. "Audi me," he muttered quickly—_Listen to me—_and tugged me closer so I could hear.

"Don't move when you recite the spell," he advised. "It's annoying because it leaves you open to attack, but the magic won't be as effective if you're not still." The precision and confidence of his words stunned me—he was only seven years old, after all. Felix must have seen my dumbfounded expression, because he laughed and said, "The teachers never tell you that the first day. They're mean."

My instructor threw a glare my way, and I knew better than to keep him waiting. I gave a quick thanks to my new friend and rushed back to my teacher's side.

Recovering my battle stance, I gave the spell another try. The target was a scarecrow a few yards from where I stood. All the other kids had already burned their straw targets to ash. They were on to other things, more difficult spells. I decided that I wouldn't fall behind.

This time I followed Felix's advice. I read the words from my tome as evenly as I could, taking care to keep my posture still. At the last stanza of the spell I held out my hand. From my palm flowed a stream of flames that effectively scorched the scarecrow. Across the room Felix gave me a thumbs-up.

I looked eagerly to my teacher with the expectation of praise. But with a scowl he only told me, "Tardus addiscentis," and that I should perhaps take a break. The words swirled around heavily in my head: _slow learner. _

The teachers at the _Institutum_ were indeed spiteful. Blackhearted. Colder than even the enemies I would eventually face on the battlefield.

"Mean" didn't cover it.

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By the time I was seven, I became familiar with the _Institutum_'s main method of keeping us in line: punishment.

Punishments ranged in severity depending on the context of our "crimes." One was lucky to escape with a short scolding—beatings (and other forms of abuse that I'll get to later) were far more common. It would take a while before I experienced some sort of punishment firsthand, although I—unwillingly—had watched others take their turns.

One night is particularly burned into memory.

It was late—well past curfew—and Felix had returned sluggishly to bed. His short pajama sleeves revealed the long, jagged lines that ran up and down his forearms. They were fresh wounds; some parts were still bleeding.

"Are you okay?" I asked him, gesturing to his reddened arms. I sat up in bed, my eyes attached curiously to the cuts.

"Yeah," he answered casually, "I'm fine." He wrestled with the blanket and settled into his pillow, facing me.

"What did you do?" I asked. Instructors were always punishing students at the _Institutum_. But I'd never seen Felix do anything that would garner their attention.

"Spoke back to a teacher," he yawned. The entire concept seemed to bore him.

"That's it?" I asked. I noticed a few more scratches on his neck. "You're bleeding, you know."

He brought a hand to his neck and pulled it away, studying his stained fingertips. "Yeah. It'll stop soon. Don't worry about me, Henry."

"What did they do to you back there?" I asked him curiously. "Is there really such a thing as the secret back room?" Felix had closed his eyes. I tried to pry them open with my questions. "Or are they just making it all up to scare us?"

But Felix wouldn't answer. There was no way he was asleep, but his long, even breaths would have fooled anybody. He did this a lot, I would notice, when he didn't feel like answering me—almost always when he came back from some unexplained punishment. There was nothing I could do. So when he closed his eyes I did the same, and I knew we were done for the night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I awoke to someone swearing.

It was a low, muttered curse in Latin. I had always been a very light sleeper, so I wasn't surprised I heard the noise. What I didn't expect, however, was that it was directed toward me.

Before I could fully wake up I was scooped into somebody's arms. The man was strong; I could feel his muscles flex against my rib cage. His grasp was aggressive. I kicked weakly in protest, my voice betraying me.

_Magistra_ Melaena was also there. She gave cold, stern orders under her breath to the man who was carrying me. "Sic," he answered repeatedly. My mouth was paralyzed in fear. He carried me to the washroom and set me down on the floor, my knees buckling beneath me. His large hands gripped my shoulders and stapled me to my position.

There was a large bucket in front of me, filled with water. I had no time to struggle further. The man buried my scalp in his grip and shoved my head forward. Unfortunately he missed; my upper lip caught the rim of the bucket and splintered my skin. I tasted blood immediately. He tried again and, this time, succeeded. Cold water smacked me in the face. He dunked my head farther down into the pail. I screamed for him to stop, but my cries were helplessly muffled by the water.

Every now and then he'd yank me back to the surface to take a breath. It was never enough; the oxygen only teased my hungry lungs before I'd be forced to go under again. I struggled with all of my energy to break free. My hands smacked the sides of the bucket, my feet flailed uselessly. The water was so freezing it became like shards of ice down my throat, in my eyes, between my hair.

I don't remember how long this lasted. Eventually I no longer felt my face. My body ached from its ceaseless trembling and my lungs gave up their fight for air.

"There is no tolerance here for thievery," _Magistra_ told me, her voice frigid. I looked up at her and her immaculate posture, towering over me. I was about to ask her to clarify when she held up a spell book. It was a tome I had borrowed from the library a week earlier.

"I—I didn't mean," I tried brokenly. "I forgot—"

"No excuses," she snarled, "and no English."

She eyed the man again and he drowned me once more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I sat up in bed, my limbs stiff. My body was leaden; it took me forever just to pull myself onto the mattress. My mind was as numb as my face. Whatever thoughts I'd had were left at the bottom of that bucket. I could still feel the man's hand at the back of my skull.

They allowed me to change into fresh pajamas—a generous offer. The chamber was silent, save for the light snoring of a few children in the back. Beside me Felix did not stir. I studied the gentle expansion of his chest with his every inhale. He sometimes had the unusual habit of mumbling in his sleep. Tonight, though, he stayed silent.

The sky out my window was hopelessly dark. With each passing hour, I realized the sun would never return. Still wide awake, I buried myself beneath the covers.

I had endured my first punishment at the _Institutum_.

I could still taste the ice inside my throat, could feel it trickle down my spine after spilling from my hair. I curled into a ball beneath the blankets. If I stayed like that, I remember reasoning, perhaps they'd forget about me. They'd never look for me, never return for me. I'd remain that way—my hands folded against my shins, knees pressed to my chest—forever, and somehow I'd be okay.

The oxygen became stale underneath the covers, though I didn't dare surface. I didn't know how much time passed, but my hair had long dried, and the nerves in my face awakened once more. Although I apparently regained proper warmth, I was still shivering.

It was the first time in memory that I truly wanted to go home.


End file.
